I’ve been wanting to write for so long but looking at my work just ended up being a giant vent. I want to work on building stories infusing my problems instead of bottling it up on some paper or the notes app.
I’ve been wanting to write for so long but looking at my work just ended up being a giant vent. I want to work on building stories infusing my problems instead of bottling it up on some paper or the notes app.
I used to work in a library,
The place where I found love.
I thought reading so much had opened my eyes…
But, no novel could have prepared me for this.
Love killed me.
And love stories always have a happy ending—
But life had a different genre in mind.
The air in here is thick,
And I enjoy the darkness.
But, it makes me focus
On the worms
Wrapped around my decaying body.
Maybe I’m just unlucky...
I’ve tried so many time to escape my problems.
Running,
And running…
Until I hear the rustling I left behind once again—
The movement that trapped me.
Through the woods, I try to escape, but as the breeeze grows stronger then ever,
I remember the comfort I found in everything I’m running from.
Maybe the mud can’t hurt me, nor the rain or the little wooden house…. I turn around as I always do.
Y...